Spilling More Ink
by l0chn3ss
Summary: A collection of stories too small for their own post outside of SoMa; Current Chapter: French Boys- Soul witnesses spectacular music being created, based off a video/vine
1. Rich People- Anya

Sometime long ago but not too long ago, Anya had been strolling through the flea market, looking for who knows what for who knows why. She readjusted her straw hat and pushed up the sunglasses up her nose, careful not to brush the sunburned skin already there. Suddenly off to the side, she heard someone approaching her. Anya stepped aside slightly to let them pass since she was in no hurry, choosing to examine each stall carefully rather than to speed through like she normally did. But the footsteps slowed down behind her, keeping close to her.

It was unnerving.

She turned around, frowning at the boy with a shit eating grin. "May I assist you?"

The boy cleared his throat before saying, "Yeah I was hoping you could answer something."

"And what would that be?"

"I bet you twenty bucks that you'll turn me down if I asked you out."

Anya blinked. She unzipped her clutch purse and pulled out a crisp hundred dollar bill, holding it out to him. "I don't have anything smaller, but maybe with this you can buy better pick up lines too."


	2. IAGTFTS

BlackStar is young money. He is fresh off the boat and ready to take on the world. With his fists. Because he is going to fight everyone.

He was particularly bilious that day, like he needed to rankle someone about their ankles that specific morning. It was his calling, his message as the messiah, the encryption in his coffee, Wednesday, March 9th's mission. Oh buddy he was going to fight.

BlackStar was going to kick someone's ass, he was going to kick everyone's ass, he'd kick his own ass.

But he had to restrain himself until he saw her– Maka. Ol buddy ol pal. Sweet Honey Nut Bunches Of Oats™ with powdered sugar over the top like a smiley face. He ate losers like that for breakfast with his coffee, courtesy of Tsubaki. Because it was nutrious for him damn it. Because it gave him strength like Popeye™ and his spinach. Damn it. Because he is a man, and men eat their Honey Nut Bunches Of Oats™ with powdered sugar over the top like a smiley face with strawberries cut up into hearts and 2% organic milk.

Where was he going with this?

Oh right. Maka, she probably wouldn't be showing up for another good five minutes because she took her time to eat breakfast like she should, even if she preferred waffles. Heh. Blue waffles.

Star could wait– he was patient– but it didn't stop him from shooting anyone who passed by the school's entrance with his best "you're next" look.

Oh, they will be next. Because he was going to fight every single person in the entire school, starting with Morning Waffle Maka™. And there she was, sprinting up the stairs with the blankest look on her face with an Eggo™ in her mouth.

"Heh, showing up late to a fight with a toasted Eggo™. You've gone cliche," he taunted her, spreading his legs and readying into position.

She took a bite. "I heard you were traumatizing kids again and came as fast as I could."

"You heard right, Trix™ mah mix. Gotta let them know who's next after I'm done with you." Even after his bluff, he still stepped back, remembering Maka's lovely habit to talk with her mouth full.

"But do you even remember who you challenged?"

"O-of course I do!"

"You can't just make eye-contact with people and fight them. That's not proper etiquette."

"Don't talk to me about proper etiquette with your mouth full. Finish up– we're gunna fight."

Maka took her last bite, licking her fingers as she shoved the final piece through her lips. "Tsk tsk. Rule 14 subsection C states that a participant can not fight after eating until a safe thirty minutes or they will risk upchucking their inners. You were the one who came up with it."

He gasped, "You–"

"No take backs."

"But–"

"Hold it!™ I believe the evidence points that I can not fight you at the time being and that school starts in– twenty minutes. Tough."

With that, she turned on her heel and entered school, joining the pigs in clothing™, leaving BlackStar back in the pit of his own despair as he checked to make sure that it truly had been thirty minutes since he'd finished breakfast himself. He shakily closed his fingers against his palm as he counted down the laps he did before arriving at school, which should have amounted to more than two and three quarters at the very least. No, no– he did sixty, each taking less than half a minute each. Safe.

But by the time he validated his math, Maka had already escaped into Sid Zone, aka "Child of mine, I swear to my own grave, if you punch another kid in the face Iwill tell Mira" Zone. It was unsafe in that territory, where the sun doesn't reach and where– oh. Oh.

Star stomped a few feet before pointing at the flaming orb that was cackling at the show.

"You. You obnoxious piece of shit. I'ma fight you."

From the upper floors of the academy, Maka was still clearly watching Star's every move. "You're going to what?" she called down.

"The sun. I'm going to kick the sun's ass."

"Oh my God" Maka swooned, fanning herself maybe ironically before straightening out again. "You can't fight the sun. We already fought on the moon, and you know how huge it is."

"Listen here Cuckoo for Cocopuffs™, I'm not fucking around right now. I'm going to kick someone's ass to-fucking-day, I'll even kick my own ass, but I issued a challenge to the motherfucking sun. So unless it's gunna be a pussy ass bitch–"

A giant flaming loogy smashed down beside BlackStar, singeing his lovely Locks of Love™. Star slowly turned his head back to the sky, disgusted, offended at the orb.

"I am going to fight the sun."

Above it all, Maka flicked her shades, extending the temple, and perched them upon her nose. "You're gunna get burned. Not by the sun, but by everyone else when you fail."

"Look–"

"Look yourself." Maka pointed.

At the mass incoming ball of fuckery coming straight at him going nyoom in slow motion. The actual fucking flaming death ball was coming at him like the moon from Majora's Mask™. Holy mother fuck. It's the ice cream truck. I scream, you scream, we all scream because we're terrified™. Star ran like he's never ran before, and considering his sheer panic and fumbling limbs, it did look like he had never ran before too.

But still it came at him like a bullet train™, Glee™ written all over it's face, tongue slightly sticking out from the velocity. It'd never been ready in it's life, since the Big Bang™. Listen little buddy I don't think y'all know how terrifying that Majora's Mask's Moon's Face™ is now imagine the sun coming straight at you with it's pointy everythings with the same face alright.

Shit's going down, literally descending from the sky to attack this smol blue Pikachu™ that was sprinting away with regret and angst. You had to feel for him, because he isn't going to feel his bones after this for a long time.

Eventually, the sun collided with the other star, impaling him with the pointiest nose of all noses, just the tip™. And BlackStar lived, clearly, because if the boy can eat a laser and vomit it back out, then he can certainly get Sisyphus™'d by the sun and still walk away from it. But he aint ever gunna fight the sun ever again until he forgets and ends up saying everything again within two weeks.

By the way, Maka gave the sun's dive a 9.5, because she's the 10 we see™.


	3. French Boys

A/N: Based off of a vine

* * *

Soul walked to the band room at lunch hoping to snag the piano room before any other hooligans began eating lunch in there. It always annoyed him when those people got there before he did; they didn't appreciate the use of the room like he did. When he got there, he could hear a couple of jazz band students practicing a… folk piece?

What ever it was, it was catchy. There were two instruments, Soul figured as he put down his backpack in the classroom section of the room. One was likely the french horn, and the other? He couldn't tell.

As he rounded the corner of the paper partition to the other side, the music grew louder and his curiosity grew along with it. He could see Harvar scooting around the room on a metal chair, and Ox was playing the french horn as he usually does, but where was– _oh. Oh my god._

He slapped a hand over his mouth. It was Harvar; the second instrument was the harmony achieved through the chair and Harvar's ass. _Are these really my boys,_ Soul thought, watching them out of fascination and awe.

Ox continued to stare into the void as he played the ostinato, his cheeks puffing in and out, slightly pinking to match his offset salmon socks. Meanwhile, Harvar scraped that chair against the tile like he's never scraped before, poker faced and stiff lipped as he would any other place. They were truly the thundering duo.

Soul slowly reached into his pockets and drew out his phone, unaware that BlackStar passed him on his way to the piano room, locking the door behind him. With the phone recording though, Soul could care less that Natasha, the piano, was being played with tainted hands. The cry of her pain was drowned out by the beauty of the music played before him.

When the duet drew to a close, Soul snapped his fingers, sniffing back a stray tear. "Encore," he whispered with heartbreaking tenderness.


End file.
